Brother?
by MorganPotter3
Summary: What would happen if Harry had a brother? A brother who could help him with the burdens laid upon him? A brother who would tease him and give him a advice about certain red-headed girls?


A/N: okay! So this is how the chapter was supposed to come out. Something went wrong while updating and I had to go back and do it allllll oveerrrrr! Anyways, enjoy! Anod thanks for the reviews :)

A searing pain shot through his body. He could feel eyes on him, hear the whispers of the crowd ...

"He has a brother?"

"Crazy isn't it?"

"There are two of them?"

The pain was blinding. He could feel every inch of his body burning. He looked to his captor. "I will find him eventually. You can't stop me." He could just make out the swish of a robe as the man in front of him flicked his wand. Doors could be heard locking all throughout the building. "Fudge, I would advise you not to lock me down here. It's bad for business to keep an 18-year-old boy locked in the Department of Mysteries, you know."

The Minister of Magic merely looked at the boy and glared. "I reckon you know nothing of the danger you will bring upon the wizarding world by seeking out the most famous boy in history."

"He's my little brother, you can't keep me from him." Was the response. Minister Fudge suddenly attacked the boy, who let out an ear piercing scream.

Harry bolted upright in his small bed on number 4, Privit Drive. His scar was burning immensely as he replayed his dream in his head. He felt as though he was seeing the events happen, as if they were real and not just a dream. Yet, he couldn't figure out who the boy was. He looked like an older version of himself, minus the scar and the extremely messy hair. This boy had dark hair that - unlike Harry's - was tamed. He had deep blue eyes and was fairly tall as well. The boy had the same mysterious orb surrounding him that Harry's friends had remarked about himself. Overall the boy from his dream looked like him. Harry thought about Fudge's mention of 'the most famous boy in history'. If it wasn't for the fact that he didn't know the boy, he would have believed it to be himself that was being searched for by the tall wizard. After all, the-boy-who-lived was incredibly famous, much to his own demise.

Pushing the thoughts and questions out of his head, Harry looked at the clock on his bedside table. 7:32am. So that meant that Uncle Vernon was already off for work and that Aunt Petunia was most likely finishing up preparations for Dudley's birthday party tonight.

Much to Harry's relief, he was not required to attend this year, seeing as he was 'a disgrace to the family' and would therefore embarrass his cousin. Despite the tinge of anger at being insulted, Harry had become accustomed to these remarks, and simply nodded his agreement the night before.

"Harry, boy, get your arse down those stairs and make breakfast!" His aunt called from below him. Groaning in frustration, Harry obeyed and made his way down the stairs.

Upon entering the kitchen, Harry saw decorations everywhere, and a huge pile of gifts stacked in the corner of the room near the fridge. "Eggs or bologna Aunt Petunia?" He asked, trying his hardest not to sound whiny, knowing very well that he would not be allowed to stay home alone if he acted badly.

"Both." She responded, setting the table. Harry rolled his eyes and fried breakfast, finishing only when Dudley entered the room. "Oh Duddykinz!" She exclaimed, rushing over to the chunky boy and placing a big kiss on each of his cheeks. She pulled out a chair for her son and poured him a glass of orange juice.

Just as Harry was placing the last of the eggs on his aunt's plate, the doorbell sounded, indicating that the mail had been delivered. "I'll get it." Harry said, silently happy for an excuse to leave the room.

He walked out of the room, and down the hall. When he reached the door he picked up the stack of bills, swimming through for any mail for him. Near the bottom of the pile, there was a fairly thick envelope with his name scribbled on it, seemingly in a rush. Quickly, Harry shoved the envelope into his pocket (as he had ever since the mishap with his Hogwarts letter when he was younger), and brought the rest to the kitchen to give to Aunt Petunia.

After a hurried breakfast, Harry headed up to his room to take a shower and dress before opening his letter. Wondering what could possibly be the reason for such a thick delivery, Harry stood in the shower, allowing the hot water to pour over him and relax his nerves.

Once the tension was mostly gone from his body, the 16-year-old dried himself off, got dressed, and sat on his bed, holding his letter out in front of him. Slowly and carefully, he tore the seal and pulled out the contents: three letters, and a chain.

Harry looked at the old pieces of parchment and the silver chain in his hands. The chain looked vaguely familiar, with it's careful pattern all around the edges. Harry unfolded the letter on the top of he pile and began reading.

- Dear Harry,

I know it's a strange occurrence for three letters to share the same envelope but I thought it'd be easiest to deliver them all at once. I'm currently staying at The Burrow, as you will be soon. We've asked Dumbledore for permission, and he says we can come get you tonight, once your Aunt and Uncle leave. Believe me I know this is going to be confusing for you but there are a couple of people I would like you to meet. Their letters are in this envelope too, so I'll let them explain it all to you. It isn't my place to do so. Have a good day Harry.

Love from, Hermione -

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in utter confusion. Who could Hermione possibly want him to meet? And what was the reason for he chain? Shaking his head clear of unanswered questions, he picked up the next letter.

- Harry,

I don't really know exactly what to say to you, but your friends Ron and Hermione wanted me to say at least something. First off, though I want to apologize for the behaviour of your Aunt and Uncle. I will explain how I know about them when you arrive here later on. That's all I really have to say.

From, Dallas -

Confusion evident on his face, Harry slowly unfolded the last letter.

- Dear Harry,

This is going to be the most confusing letter you've ever read, no doubt. I'm the one who sent the chain. It will be a special gift to you I believe, seeing as it is from your father. Yes, yes, I will explain once I've finally met you again. Feel free to owl back if you wish.

Bradley -

Harry's eyes drifted over to the chain that lay on the covers in front of him. The chain that had been his father's. Who were these people and how did they seem to know so much about his life? Did Hermione tell them? No, she wouldn't do that. Did Ron know them? No, it that was the case then they would've mentioned it, and Ron would've written instead of Hermione. What, then was the reals behind the knowledge that they held? Why was it that they couldn't tell him over letters?

Drawing up no conclusion, Harry returned the pieces of parchment to the envelope, and put it in his back pocket. He then picked up his father's previously owned chain and put it around his neck. He now remembered seeing this pattern flash across his eyes at the effect of Dementors. The swirls and stripes stuck out in his head whenever he heard his mother's screams; when the coldness overruled his body, and told him that the only people who would ever care about him even in the slightest bit were dead and were never coming back. When the voices in the back of his head said horrible things to him, reminded him of all his regrets, and confirmed his guilt, saying that it should have been him when his parents died, when he watched Cedric Diggory get killed in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and even when Sirius fell through the veil. It should've been him because he was the target in all three cases.

A shiver ran through Harry's body and down his spine as he forced these depressing thoughts out of his mind. He had friends who loved him. He had the Weasley family, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and all of those in the D.A.. It wasn't his fault that these people were killed. After all, Voldemort and his Death Eaters were behind each of the attacks, not him.

Harry reached under the floorboards and pulled out his trunk. Opening the lid, he found all of his school robes already packed, and a small pouch containing knuts, galleons, and his Gringots key laid atop his folded invisibility cloak. Harry walked over to his bedside table and opened the drawer, revealing bottles of ink, a quill, and couple of rolls of parchment. He picked up his belongings, and put them inside his empty cauldron - which sit in the closet - before laying it inside his trunk and closing the lid. This was all he really owned, other than his Firebolt, which would not fit.

Deciding it was better to wait until after the Dursleys left for the night, Harry sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the broom in the cupboard that was his old bedroom.

"Boy, get down here and clean the fireplace! I will not stand for any laziness by a freak like you!" Came Uncle Vernon's voice from below the room. With a sigh, Harry took one last look at the chain around his neck and put it under his shirt in hopes of not letting any of the Dursleys see it, and take it away only for Dudley to keep and destroy.

Harry walked quickly but quietly down over the stairs, stopping at the cupboard and taking out a bucket and a sponge. He went into the kitchen, and poured hot soapy water into the bucket, then made his way to the living room to clean.

Dipping his sponge into the water, Harry put down the bucket and started to scrub. Up until now, he hadn't found any reason to complain about the age limit on magic outside of school. How easy it would be to cast a simple 'Scourgify!'. But no, he wasn't 17 yet. Instead, he had to scrub on the grimy bricks, and wipe the soot off of the grate.

He had about 1/3 of the bricks clean and was on his second bucket of clean, soapy water when he took a sudden blow to the head. Harry flew backwards into the wall, shattering his glasses, and causing a bump to form on the back of the head. Slightly dizzy from the impact, Harry instinctively drew his wand and held it to the ready.

Upon seeing what caused the commotion, he stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't a Death Eater, and he wasn't hit by an unsuspected jinx like he had assumed. Instead he was face to face with the boy from his dream.


End file.
